The Old Tire Swing
by Eternal Camouflage
Summary: Easy-going, joyful Hermione Granger, Hogwarts' Head Girl, is liked by almost everyone and admired by all. Except for Draco Malfoy. So, it's obvious why him calling her a Mudblood affects her so much... isn't it? Maybe Hermione's life isn't as joyful as


Prologue: A Little Girl, and a Little Boy

_A lone girl sat, swinging on a worn tire swing amidst shrubs and small trees. She looked to the ground, her mussed, unruly hair hanging in front of her face. She sniffed once and hiccoughed, bringing a hand to her face to wipe at her eyes. _

A small boy slowly approached her. He pushed aside a lush green plant and walked towards the cracked tire swing. She didn't notice him, just continued looking at the ground and twirling the top of her shoe in the soft dirt underneath her.

The little boy stood, unsure of what to do. He wasn't used to dealing with people his own age, not people who seemed as real as she was then. Straightening up tall and throwing his shoulders back, the picture of juvenile bravery, he moved closer to the swing.

The small girl was startled when she felt the swing begin to move on its own, and she was soon twirled around to face the other direction. There, in front of her, was a boy who looked about her age. She sniffed again and covered her face quickly, not wanting anyone to see her upset. She twirled the swing around the other way quickly – however, she didn't notice the boy was still holding on to the chain.

He felt the tug on the chain, and before he had a chance to let go, he found himself thrown on the ground, face first into the soil she'd just loosened with her foot. He wasn't really hurt, only embarrassed. He tried to stand up but the girl, in her attempts to get off the swing to see if he was hurt, had accidentally sent the swing back in his direction, and he was knocked down again.

The girl looked down at the boy, who had finally managed to pull himself up and away from the tire, couldn't help buy giggle. That giggle felt so good after the hours of crying she'd just gone through that she couldn't help another, and another. Soon, she was clutching her stomach and leaning against the old wooden post, tears of humour replacing the sad tears she'd just wept.

The boy stood up, slightly perturbed. He didn't like people laughing at him. But when he saw her, laughing happily and no longer upset like she was, he thought that maybe it was okay this one time. It's okay if she was laughing at him, if it made her happy. Soon, he found himself laughing along with her, plunking down onto the tire swing, feeling better than he had in ages.

* * *

"Scurvy grass?" Ron asked himself, looking confused at the Potions assignment in front of him. "What the bleeding hell is 'scurvy grass'?"

"Grass that causes scurvy?" Harry suggested, skipping to the next question.

"Hermione!" Ron called. He folded his arms across his chest, annoyed. "Did you get question ten?"

"One minute, Ron," she said, scribbling down the rest of which looked to be a horribly long sentence. Once done, she glanced to see which paper he was talking about. "Oh, that," she commented. "Didn't we get that last week?" The way she asked the question implied she already knew the answer, but wanted him to comment anyway.

"Erm… yes…" he squeaked.

"And you're only starting now?" she queried, noticing he was on the tenth question out of forty nine.

"No."

She looked at him quizzically.

"I started thirty five minutes ago."

Hermione huffed. "I swear, if you two don't stop procrastinating soon…" She left the threat open. "What is it you need help on?" No matter how annoyed she may be with the two for starting their assignments so late, she resigned to be satisfied enough that they were actually attempting it, at least.

"This," Ron said, pointing to the question. "I've even looked for it in this book!" He held up a book, twenty pages in length with pictures and large text.

"Honestly, Ronald!" she scolded, looking at the book. "That's a children's book. How do you expect to find out all the information you can from one source, let alone one like that! Here, use something like this." She dug around in her overly large bag and pulled out a several hundred page text with miniscule writing. "This is a bit better suited to a seventh year."

Their mouths gaped at the size of the book, and marvelled at how she could fit it in her bag and carry it around all day. "C'mon, Herm! We don't have time to read through all of that…" As he was saying this, Ron leaned slightly over the desk, pretending to look at the book Hermione offered. In reality, he was peeking at her answer to the question. Harry saw this, and merely shook his head, but left it alone. He sure as hell didn't feel like sifting through that volume to find the answer.

"How 'bout you leave it here, and come pick it up after, so we can use it?" Ron suggested. Hermione, excited about the idea that her friends were actually going to _research _something for once, complied happily. She gathered her few things from the table, claiming she had things to take care of back in her own common room, and left quietly.

"Why'd you get her to leave the book here?" Harry questioned Ron after Hermione had left.

"Oh, no reason." He smirked. Shifting the book from its place on the table, and taking two hands to do so, Harry spotted Hermione's answer sheet. "Seems the book helped a lot, didn't it? Now, 'scurvy-grass is a common ingredient in Confusing and Befuddlement Draughts…'"

* * *

Hermione spoke the password to her common room softly, hauling herself and her heavy bag into the room. Being Head Girl definitely had its perks – her own, private space being one of them. She dumped her weighted bag on the chair of the large desk in the back of the room, sighing in relief as the extra pounds were rid of. She massaged her shoulder, letting a small moan of gratification creep from her throat. She _really_ needed to stop carrying around as many books as she did – especially old texts, as lightening and shrinking charms wouldn't work properly on them, and she was afraid she might damage them. 

She heard a door opening, and she looked behind her to see the Head Boy exiting his personal room. He was dressed in his Hogwarts school robes, meaning he was planning on leaving the common room. She shrank slowly back towards her door, hoping he wouldn't spot her.

Luck, unfortunately, was against her that day, as his head flicked around almost immediately. He smirked; the common Malfoy gesture that she'd grown to hate over the years. "Granger," he drawled, nodding his head toward her.

"Malfoy," she responded, hand behind her turning the knob to her room.

"I heard about your mark on the Potions exam last week – merely a ninety-nine?" His eyes glinted evilly. "Your grades are slipping, Granger."

Thinking this was the end to the conversation, and surprised at the civility, Hermione began actually opening her door. However, Malfoy apparently wasn't finished.

"Seems like the dirty Mudblood bitch is finally learning her place. Maybe now you'll realize the wrongs of your reasoning and finally praise and admire the pureblood race for what it really is – superior."

Hermione's eyes stung with unshed tears; she was only glad Malfoy was too far away to see them. That was the last thing she needed, for him to have the satisfaction of seeing how he affected her. She managed a meagre 'shut it, Malfoy' and fled to her bedchamber.

Once there, she flopped down on her bed. Tears spilled down her face, but she didn't make a noise. She'd learned through her practiced years of crying how to keep quiet; she didn't want to attract the attention of her parents when she was home with them. Not long after, she'd drained herself, and fell into a fitful sleep.


End file.
